Brixton Beach Page 14

  ‘Because he looked Tamil,’ Alice told them matter-of-factly.

  What was the matter with her mother? Had she forgotten the Tamils were hated?

  ‘So much for innocence,’ Bee remarked.

  ‘Anay!’ Kamala cried.

  The child had been robbed of her childhood. Every day that passed brought yet another reason for her being taken away.

  ‘Let’s have some tea,’ Bee said. ‘Now they are here at last!’

  He surveyed the room with satisfaction. No one spoke. A known quantity of days stretched before them.

  In her room, Alice unpacked her book of drawings and brought them out to Bee.

  ‘Look, here’s Mrs Maradana,’ she said, finding the page, grinning at him.

  Bee burst out laughing. Alice had drawn a picture of her Singhalese teacher using the new Biro pen Bee had bought for her. Biro pens were all the rage at the moment. She had, with a few vigorous, confident lines, captured something of the spirit of the woman. Staring at it, Bee thought, This is good; this must be developed. It is a talent that will hold her in good stead. I shall not see the end of it, he thought, but at least I see what she has brought into this life. Maybe I have even contributed to it.

  ‘This is very, very, good, Alice,’ he said aloud. ‘Keep drawing, look as hard as you can at everything.’

  Memories were all he could give her. No matter how far she travelled, no matter if she never returned, still her memories would last forever. He tapped his pipe and re-lit it, half listening to her voice chattering on. He was not a man who frequented the temple, but Buddhism remained part of his life. Whatever good thing a man did, he believed, would return to bless him. Or haunt him; depending on the way he lived. Yes, he thought, Stanley would send for them soon enough but just for a brief moment, on the first of these last remaining evenings, as he watched the setting sun, listening to the child’s happy talk Bee was comforted.

  A routine of sorts slowly established itself. For Alice, mornings meant the beach. Bee took her for a swim or a bike ride. Sometimes, when he was not out with the fishing boats, Janake came for her, and occasionally even Esther visited. In the afternoons, after her nap, she was allowed to visit Bee in his studio when he let her loose on his paints. They worked together in companionable silence. As it was term time, May was still working. The wedding was now to take place in June and in the evenings the talk was mainly about the preparations for it. Namil was often present and, were it not for the fact that Sita’s mental state was no better and that they were counting the days, things might have been pleasant enough. Sita’s lethargy was a constant reminder of the borrowed time they lived on. Having detached herself from everyone, she spent long hours in her room, often having her meals brought to her. All attempts to draw her out proved useless. Nearly two weeks passed in this way.

  On one such night when the house slept and the moon appeared a milky blue in the phosphorescent sky, Kamala sat sewing alone. The darkness had drawn its sea-misty wings over the beach and the waves exploded in clouds of spray. Regardless of everything the house turned over and sunk deeper into sleep. Bee was still working in his studio. Kamala put away her sewing. She folded the jacket she had sewn for Sita and rubbed one hand over the other. The blue sapphire in the ring Bee had given her years ago shone in the pinprick of light. Both her children were briefly under the same roof again. Watching the moon disappearing from view, aware these nights were numbered, she felt the impending loss hover a hair’s breadth away. All of this, she thought, surveying the silent room, appears to last forever but will vanish in a moment. She imagined her daughters, her girls, running in and out of the open house, laughing, teasing each other, fighting too, as if they were a pair of boys. Clearly she saw it, as though it had been yesterday. Living for so long in this way they had mistaken ‘so long’ for ‘forever’. Ah! but time has flown while they grew, thought Kamala, feeling the year turn over, dry as a leaf. Bee was depressed and would not admit it. Twisting the rings on her finger, Kamala’s thoughts went round in circles. From the day it had broken open, her love for him had never faltered. On the night that he had returned from the port he had sat smoking his pipe on the verandah. May had been out walking with Namil. The house had been silent. Packing away her sewing, Kamala had come to stand beside Bee. She had stood without speaking for so long that in the end she thought he didn’t realise she was there. But in the end he held out his hand without turning round and made her sit beside him, his eyes moving towards her like a star in the darkness.

  ‘I was thinking today, they have taken after you,’ he said softly. ‘You are very beautiful’

  In all these years the tenderness had never left his voice. Kamala looked down at her hands, smiling in the darkness, remembering his words. The house slept as though it were an animal, as though it were well fed and at peace, tucked away on its perch above the bay, surrounded by rustling coconut trees. Moonlight shredded the water into small fragments. The rain had died down and the air was full of the sharp smell of seaweed, while the sea, moving on its seabed, sighed too, peaceful like the house. It was a sea she loved, almost on the equator, a width away from India, furthest of all from Antarctica. Somewhere out beyond the reef, currents swirled darkly and fish as black as night swam, but here within the bay all remained safe. A thousand years of coral splendour protected their bay, keeping it safe for bathers and fishermen alike. But into this quietness Kamala heard the faint sound of drumming further inland. It was coming from the town. The only discordant note, it had gone on and on since the curfew and was now part of the background noises of the night, slipping in with the whirl of insects and the slap of water. The servant woman, who knew of these things, had told Kamala there was a sick man in one of the villages. The drummers were hoping to drum the devil out of his body. They wanted to drum it out of town, but they had been working all night and still nothing had happened. That was how hard it was to remove the devil once he had taken hold, the servant woman said. Maybe by dawn the sick man would be cured. Maybe not. Either way there would be an offering left for the gods by morning. Kamala went to bed. It would be hours before Bee finished work in the studio.

  A thin light shone under the door that led into Bee’s studio. It flickered faintly. Every now and then a shadow passed over the crack as if someone inside the room was walking around. It was what Alice noticed first when she awoke and went outside. On these occasional night forays, her grandfather’s studio was the first place she thought of. Tonight something had woken her; she moved swiftly, her small bare feet silent on the cool gravel, wanting to find Bee and tell him about it. Voices drifted towards her, then stopped. Straining, she listened. A bullfrog croaked and dark shapes fluttered past her face, making her duck and lose her balance. She fell against a flowerpot and froze. It was like the last time, she thought, in sudden panic, not knowing whether to run back to the house. The voices had stopped. Nothing moved. Then the door opened and she saw a pair of familiar feet, the edges of a white sarong.

  ‘Well, well. Now that’s a surprise, I must say,’ her grandfather said, his voice an odd mixture of sharp anxiety and relief.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Alice said, looking beyond him wonderingly into the studio.

  ‘So it would appear,’ Bee said wryly. ‘How unfortunate!’

  He was standing in the doorway, blocking the view. It wasn’t like the last time, she decided, searching his face with relief, although she had a distinct feeling he didn’t want her there.

  Alice,’ he was saying, ‘this won’t do. D’you know what the time is? You should go back to bed. I was going to wake you up very early to go to the beach.’

  ‘But I’m not tired,’ Alice began, and then she too stopped.

  Someone else stood behind her grandfather. Alice stared. The man’s face was familiar.

  ‘Hello,’ the man said.

  He smiled tiredly.

  ‘I know you,’ said Alice, puzzled.

  Bee sighed.

  ‘You better come in,’
he said resignedly.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the man apologised.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘She’s just a child. It will do no harm.’

  ‘No,’ Alice announced, shaking her head. ‘That’s what everyone thinks. But I’m not.’

  Bee raised his eyebrows. This quiet certainty was new.

  Alice,’ he began, eyeing her.

  Then he made up his mind.

  ‘Okay, come in, come in, quickly.’

  He pushed her gently into the room and shut and locked the door. She was startled to see his studio so transformed. Bee had closed up his etching press and all his colours and rags had been pushed hastily to one side of the shelf. A small camp bed had been opened up against one of the walls and there was a bowl of water stained dark crimson on the floor beside it. Someone had torn a bed sheet into strips. Her grandfather had turned off the electric light and instead two candles burned on the table. Alice looked around her, astonished. The man had rolled his trousers up and there was a bandage on his leg. She could see blood seeping out through it.

  Alice,’ her grandfather said again.

  He was watching her.

  ‘You say you’re not a child. So I’m trusting you with my secret. You must not breathe a word of any of this, you understand?’

  He had never spoken to her so seriously before. Not even when he had taught her to mix his precious pigments. Alice nodded. She pushed the hair out of her eyes; all sleep had fled from them. Bee looked grim.

  ‘This is Kunal,’ he said reluctantly. ‘He’s been shot in the leg by the army and he’s hiding here until morning. I’m going to have to get Dr Mutumuruna to come over and look at his leg, but I can’t leave until the curfew is over. It’s too dangerous.’

  He paused.

  ‘Kunal is staying here for the moment. No one knows about this, Alice. No one. Kunal will be taken by the army and killed if they find out. Do you understand?’

  Alice nodded. The seriousness of his words had rendered her speechless.

  Kunal was sitting on the camp bed. He wasn’t looking at them any more. His head was bent.

  ‘He’s lost a lot of blood,’ Bee muttered. ‘I’m going to have to get hold of the doctor as soon as it’s light.’

  He was talking to himself. Alice looked at him. She was concentrating so hard that her head hurt with the effort. She swallowed quickly.

  ‘Yes,’ she said clearly. ‘I understand.’

  Bee did not seem to hear. He opened the cupboard that held his inks and took out a bottle of whisky. Then he washed a tumbler and poured the whisky into it. Next he held the glass up to the light. It was golden like a wasp’s sting.

  ‘Kunal used to be one of my staff at the boys’ school,’ he said.

  Alice gasped.

  ‘Were you on a bicycle recently? Near the level crossing,’ she asked.

  Kunal finished the whisky in one gulp and shook his head. Alice saw his eyes were bloodshot with weeping.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  He paused, struggling. When he spoke again his chin wobbled in a way Alice fully understood.

  ‘No. That was my friend. You were probably the last one to see him alive.’

  And then he began to weep.

  At dawn Bee went out to get the doctor. Alice could not be persuaded to leave Kunal. She sat cross-legged and stubborn on the ground beside him.

  ‘I’m not sleepy,’ she told Bee, again with quiet certainty. ‘Don’t worry’

  Again Bee hesitated.

  All right,’ he said finally.

  If he were going, he would have to leave now.

  ‘I won’t wake your grandmother just yet. Lock the door after me. I’ll be gone about twenty minutes.’

  Alice nodded, silent with concentration. Kunal seemed to have dozed off, head slumped against the wall. He hadn’t moved since drinking the whisky. The empty bottle stood on the floor. Alice stared at him. The edges of his trousers were frayed and she noticed his shoes were old and broken. She could see his feet peeping out. She sat very still. After what felt like a long time, Kunal opened his eyes blearily and saw her.

  ‘You’re still here,’ he said faintly.

  ‘Grandpa won’t be long,’ Alice whispered. ‘I’m looking after you until he gets back. Don’t worry. You’re safe here.’

  Kunal smiled vaguely.

  ‘I know.’

  He struggled to sit up and Alice went over and adjusted the cushion behind his head.

  ‘Bee told me your father has gone to England.’

  Yes. But I don’t want to go.’

  Kunal nodded, agreeing.

  ‘To leave your country is terrible, Alice,’ he said. ‘Your country is such a part of you. It’s in your skin, your eyes, your hair, all of you. You are Ceylon, you know. And whenever someone from this place leaves, a little bit of it leaves with them and is lost forever. If too many people leave Ceylon, it will become another sort of place entirely.’

  Alice narrowed her eyes. Kunal was shaking and she noticed there were beads of perspiration on his forehead. The bandage on his leg had become redder. She wondered what she should do.

  ‘But some of us don’t have any choices,’ Kunal continued, after a pause. ‘I had another friend who was about to go to the UK when they killed him. So now all that is left of my family is his son Janake and my sister. Maybe he too will go to England one day’

  ‘Janake?’ Alice asked.

  She was astonished.

  ‘He’s my friend!’ she said. ‘He lives in the next village with his mother. How do you know him?’

  Kunal’s face twitched slightly.

  ‘His father’s brother was married to my sister. One day some thugs came and killed my sister and then went looking for Janake’s father.’

  ‘Did they kill Janake’s father too?’ Alice asked, breathlessly.

  Kunal nodded.

  ‘Janake won’t talk about his father.’

  ‘Janake was only about six when it happened. His father was hiding his brother, my sister’s husband, after my sister was killed. But then they came and found him. They took both of them, Janake’s father and his brother, out on to the beach.’

  ‘They killed them?’ Alice asked.

  Kunal nodded. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you all this. But it’s the way this country has become. One of them or one of us, that’s what it has come to,’ he said.

  ‘I got caned in my Singhalese lesson,’ Alice said. ‘That’s why I’m not going back to school’

  ‘I know. Your grandfather told me. He was very upset. I know what happened to your mother too.’

  Alice wriggled. She did not want to discuss her mother.

  ‘When you go to the UK you will have a better chance in life. That’s all any of us want in the end. A chance to breathe the air around us, to live our lives freely, without fear. There are too many dead here to haunt us.’

  He appeared to have forgotten Alice, whose velvet dark eyes were fixed steadily on him.

  ‘I’m coming back,’ Alice said into the silence. ‘When I’m sixteen. After I’ve made some friends and finished my studies, I’m coming back. I’m going to live here and look after my grandparents.’

  Kunal nodded. He looked as though he might start crying again.

  ‘You must return if you can,’ he said finally. ‘If everyone who leaves comes back, there might be some hope. A country needs its young if this madness is to be stopped.’

  The candles were almost out and through the papered-up window they saw a little daylight seeping in.

  ‘For people like me, there is very little hope left. It’s too late, really,’ Kunal whispered.

  He stared at his bandaged leg.

  ‘Alice in Wonderland,’ he said at last. ‘Who gave you this name? I don’t know how much you understand, but your grandfather is a very fine man. He’s a wonderful painter, too. And he tells me you show signs of becoming an artist. Is that right?’

  She nodded, frowning. Words sp
un round in her head. No one believes me, she wanted to say. But I’m coming back.

  Kunal had dozed off. The candles blew out, the light outside had become insistent. Alice too closed her eyes. She had no idea how long she sat like this before the door opened very quietly and her grandfather came in. The doctor was behind him. And close behind the doctor, with an expression of annoyance on her face, was a bleary-eyed Kamala.

  ‘Hello, Putha,’ the doctor said. ‘Have you been looking after my patient?’

  Alice smiled faintly. She was tired.

  ‘Bed,’ Kamala told her firmly, glowering at Bee.

  The look said plainly, I’ll talk to you later.

  ‘I don’t know what your grandfather was thinking about. Come on.’

  She took hold of Alice’s hand, ignoring her protests.

  ‘Could I have some warm water, please, Kamala?’ the doctor asked.

  Her grandfather had got another bottle of whisky out of his cupboard and was pouring some into the glass. He was looking very serious again and Alice could not catch his eye.

  ‘Come back, Alice,’ Kunal called softly. ‘Come back to Wonderland one day.’

  The last thing she saw was the doctor, his head bent in concentration, rolling his shirtsleeves up. And then her grandmother hurried her out into the astonishing early-morning sunlight. It was as though the night had not occurred at all, such was the blueness of the air. The sun touched her cheeks warmly and a crumpled tissue-paper moon glided across the sky. She yawned. She was hungry too, but her grandmother’s face told her there was no chance of food at the moment. She knew it would have to be bed first.

  After the doctor had removed the bullet from Kunal’s leg, Kamala made up the small room in the annexe and had him moved there. The annexe had been newly whitewashed in readiness for the bride and groom, who were to live in it until their new house was ready. The wedding was still weeks away and the doctor thought it a good idea for Kunal to remain in the annexe for the moment. Everyone who knew the Fonsekas knew Bee had a studio in the garden. If someone wanted to search the house, the studio would be the obvious place to look first. Bee and the doctor moved Kunal in silence. He was dizzy with the loss of too much blood and protested weakly, saying he did not want to be moved. He was, he told them, ashamed to be the first occupant of the bride’s new home. But there was little choice. The army might decide at any moment to patrol the beach. It was already late, the risks were enormous and the doctor needed to get back to his surgery. He would return later, he promised.